


Break Point

by HandsAcrossTheSea, trashhearts67



Series: alpha4alpha [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean Winchester, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Lubrication, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19457548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/pseuds/trashhearts67
Summary: Even alphas have a tipping point, and Dean enjoys far too much finding Sam's.timestamp #4 in the alpha4alpha verse





	Break Point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mystifiedgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystifiedgal/gifts).



> Every time the idea well runs dry for this series, another one comes along, normally inspired by a gif or literally one picture, and it's off to the porn races. This whole collection of smut needs to be handled with gloves or fire or some other substance to keep it from rubbing off on everyone.
> 
> And if you have a fucking snarky comment to make about how repetitive this series is, keep it to yourself. It's exactly what it says on the tin. We aren't here to do anything other than write Sam and Dean fucking.
> 
> Also, this is for mystifiedgal, whose relentless cheerleading of this series brightens both of our days <3

Sam’s knot finally goes down, and he rolls off of Dean with a groan. His whole body thrums, every cell sucked dry, it seems. God, they aren’t even in rut, and Sam’s energy is zapped. Not that it’s  _ his  _ fault, but Dean’s a demanding bottom at best. Today, this afternoon, whatever, hadn’t been any different.

But god _ damn  _ he feels good, really fucking good. Lazing in this morning and then fucking? Sign Sam the fuck up as happy camper. Dean had gotten fucking wet in his sleep and that had been it, Sam rolling him over onto his back and going in tongue first. He hadn’t intended for it to go further, not at first - but Dean’s the one who’d yanked him up for a kiss and growled  _ fuck me. _

Like Sam’s going to just ignore a request like that. Not that he was necessarily opposed, God no. A little bit of wake up rimming is just business, but to knot and knock Dean up like that this early in the day, hell, Sam’s waking hours are off to a fucking  _ phenomenal  _ start. Just Dean’s tongue in his mouth alone had been enough to secure that for him.

Dean groans, lifting his right leg up and sliding his right hand down under his balls to make sure everything’s attached. “Feel like my asshole’s been re-located.” The scent of slick and come punches through the air as Dean opens himself up and it leaks out onto the ratty sheets, already stained before they even got there and likely to be messed up even further by whatever humanity puts on this bed over the course of time. Not like it had bothered or stopped them from making them even nastier. Tonight’s their last night in town anyway, one more sleep on it isn’t going to hurt them.

“‘S cause you wouldn’t stop squirmin’.” Sam leans back, runs his fingers through his body hair, right arm lifted behind his head, letting himself air out. Dean turns his head, hungry look in his eyes, lingering on Sam’s pit. “What?”

“Nothing.” Dean scoots closer, no matter that both of them are f fucking sweaty as shit and it’s hotter than hell outside. Central Tennessee offers precisely no escape from the heat and they’ve been all  _ over  _ each other lately - getting through last night’s salt and burn had been a fucking task, with Dean sweating and smelling goddamn  _ incredible  _ every time he lifted the dirt over his head. Sam had been hard the entire time they were digging and once their corpse was burning, he’d been on his knees, shoving his face into Dean’s musky crotch and sucking him dry, right against the headstones. 

Dean offered to reciprocate, as he always does - but Sam had been so goddamn dick thirsty that it hadn’t even been worth his own arousal. It’s unloaded into Dean right now, and given the way Dean’s teeth grit as he explores himself, Sam’s reasonably sure that it’s going to be a bit before he’s allowed to even  _ think  _ about getting turned on.

Not that it helps with the way that Dean is eyeing his pit up. Sam stretches, gives him a better view, and reaches down to squeeze the last few drops of come out of himself. There isn’t a lot left, but it’s enough to add a wift of salt into the already pheromone-laden air. “You can put ‘em away, Sam, ‘s too hot.”

“Then why the hell are you still lookin?” Sam sits up and pushes his hair out of his face, thirsty and sticky. “Air’s busted.” Not that it comes as a surprise - just means they won’t be using the blankets tonight when they knock out. Hell, it’d be more comfortable to sleep in the car. “Drink?” He goes over to the cooler and inspects their dwindling supply of booze and water, two cans of each left. He gets the waters, figures the beer’s good for the shower he’ll take in a few minutes. “Not much left.”

Dean sits up, swinging his legs out and moving gingerly. God, they tore each other up with that last one, but Dean still looks fucking  _ hot,  _ that full body flush pinking his skin and making his eyes hazy with satisfaction. “I’ll do a supply run in a bit, just gimme one of of those.” Dean gets up and meets Sam halfway, still watching, still looking, licking his lips when his eyes drop to between Sam’s legs. “Christ, Sam, I still fuckin’ want you.” He uncaps the water and tilts his head back to drink, come still drying on his stomach and chest, some of it his, some of it Sam’s. Just hearing the words makes Sam’s dick throb but seriously, it’s gonna be a minute before he can go again.

“Give the bruises a chance to heal first, pretty boy.” Sam indicates towards his hips where Dean had hung on so tightly that it had nearly hurt, nail marks dug into his skin. “Not much left in there to come out anyway.”

“So you think anyway.” Dean finishes off the water and approaches Sam, cold fingers wrapping around his spent dick and hauling him in. “You fuck good, Sam.” Dean’s got that lost sort of look in his eyes, the one where Sam knows damn well it’s his downstairs brain talking and the logical parts of him offline. “Smell good too.”

“I smell like ass.”

“So long as it’s mine, I don’t care all that much.” Dean leans up for a kiss, a long one, toes curling into the scratchy carpet, Dean’s dick swelling up against his thigh. God, how the hell he’s still capable of getting hard is beyond Sam but it’s really fucking nice to know that he’s under the spell. Sure that spell is musk and come leaking out of his ass, but Sam’s not really picky about the why or how - just that he is.

Dean’s tongue swipes across his, backing him against the cruddy dresser, fingers still around his cock. It fucking  _ hurts  _ to get hard again so fast, his knot sore and his balls still tight up against his body - but Dean’s a fucking force of nature that fighting with tends to result in losing. His alpha seems pretty goddamn happy with the events unfolding, but that bastard’s pretty much always down for anything Dean-shaped.

_ He can make you come again, and you know it. _

“What’s your goal here, Dean?” Sam lets him at his neck, sniffing, licking, worrying the bruise he’s already left there. “Cause I’d love to know if I’m gonna end up on this nasty carpet or not.”

Dean hums, perfectly content to leave Sam in suspense - and tries to dissuade his curiosity with a swipe of his thumb over his slit. He’s already leaking precome again, smeary and salty and starting to flow like he didn’t just shoot enough come into Dean’s ass to knock up an omega twice over. Just another hazard of the job, but Dean seems like he can’t get enough.

He makes it back to Sam’s mouth, a nip at his chin making Sam gasp, the tug on his dick a little sharper than it needs to be. “Bring the beer” - Dean backs off like he wasn’t just about to start biting marks into his skin and saunters towards the bathroom, ass red and marked with Sam’s handprints. Sam really can’t fucking believe him some days, but he does as he’s told.

The sole redeeming feature of this motel is that the water pressure is fucking  _ incredible,  _ and more than adequate for scraping the grime from each other’s skin. Dean dials it up to burning hot and steps in, holding the curtain back for Sam. Sam keeps the beer covered until the spray is pointed away, chest to chest with Dean as they drink. 

“Shower beer?” Sam has to admit that the contrast of hot water with the cool beer sliding down his throat is a welcome one, and a concept that he’s kind of regretting he hadn’t been open to before. “Pretty sure alcohol and water don’t mix.”

“Don’t think it’s the booze making my knees wobble right now.” Dean fucking  _ winks  _ at him, lips looking like fucking artwork around the mouth of that bottle. “Think we need a little unwinding anyway.”

“Like that just wasn’t?” Sam’s  _ still  _ floating, and that’s holding up remarkably well just by being this fucking close to him. “Unless you’ve got somethin’ else in mind.”

“Think we find us a pool game, some cheap beer, and a pretty omega waiter to eye up. Make ‘em think they got a chance.”

“Like that’s not cruel or unusual punishment.” Sam’s working out how he can wash himself and not put his beer down at the same time, sad that cleaning up is a two hand job. “What’s the point?”

“Dunno. Just seems to work out in the end.” Dean finally picks up the bottle of body wash and squirts blue soap all over Sam’s chest, drinking as he does. He starts to scrub, one handed, with the wash cloth, only most of his efforts seem to be concentrated on Sam’s nipples and absolutely nowhere else. Sam frowns at him, somehow ridiculously in love and yet so, so disbelieving that Dean is actually like  _ this. _

“Having fun?”

“Hey, if I’m gonna grope your tits later, the least I can do is wash ‘em. Right?”

Much to Sam’s chagrin, Dean  _ does  _ have a point.

___

Sam had gone through the trouble of finding a place for them shoot pool at, Googling it and coming up with precisely one location in thirty miles of them. Fucking dry counties, blue laws, whatever - Sunday’s the day of the week that beer and a pool cue feel best, not to mention the hot press of Dean’s body against his. He’s still reeling from their afternoon together, dick half-hard and nerves on edge, all because Dean wanted to be a little shit. Drain his nuts and then start him right back up again, it’s  _ mean.  _ Dean knows it too, but as usual, Sam’s pretty sure it’s part of some far larger plan to get more out of him. 

Dean doesn’t  _ have  _ to do this. Sam will plow him through whatever surface he wants, keep his knot jammed in him for as long as he can possibly stand it, but this half-aroused, nervous adrenaline shooting through his veins, it doesn’t sit well with him. 

And here’s Dean, acting like he’s not done a damn thing except take them out for a drive, perfectly content to ignore the directions that Sam pulled up and just “feel the place out.” Whatever the hell that means. Sam doesn’t doubt his brother’s sense of direction, but central Tennessee isn’t a place they’ve  _ ever  _ spent a ton of time in. Even the old fold up map that’s managed to hang on all these years isn’t super clear about where it is they’re supposed to go.

“Know what I love about places like these, Sammy? Moonshine. Every one of ‘em has it if you ask, especially if you cross the border and you can’t get liquor in town. Makes the taste all the sweeter.” Dean seems  _ way  _ too enthused about it, and all Sam can do is think back to the last time that they had moonshine. He doesn’t remember much, aside from feeling like he was having the top ten layers of his skin scraped off with a very hot knife and then swallowing needles on the way down. Two glugs of that had been plenty, but Dean had kept going.

Dean hadn’t touched a drink for three weeks after that, so why the hell he’s looking so excited for more is entirely known only unto him. Sam can’t get past the way he’d cursed even beer after that, but it  _ has  _ been a while since that incident. 

“You know that you can get it in the store now, right?” Sam shifts in his seat, toying with the corner of the map and eying Dean’s long veins that run from his knuckles down his forearm, flexing with the muscle underneath as he moves the wheel with the curves.

Sam fixates, and completely misses whatever it was Dean replies. He’s in a t-shirt only, his plaid ditched for the night. Good. More for Sam to look at and enjoy.

“Sam?”

“Yeah.” He closes his legs tight, squeezing his dick between his thighs, hoping that a few drinks loosens him up enough to last the evening without ripping Dean apart in the men’s room. “So are we close yet?”

“Think so - and I said the store bought stuff ain’t worth it. You want what comes from the distillery in a backyard. No fuss, just experience. And who the hell wants fucking apple pie moonshine? Mutually exclusive and great on their own.” Dean licks his lips, likely imagining both, and Sam is  _ captivated  _ by the flash of pink. Shit fucking hell, he got his fill earlier, he did, and he can’t stop thinking about removing Dean’s clothing as fast as he can.

He looks at his phone, and it’s only been fifteen minutes since they left the motel but the fucking curvy roads and Dean’s mouth and musk just make it seem like  _ so much longer,  _ way too much time since he’s put Dean and himself together. He’s an addict, his supply is sitting right there, and all he can talk about is the finer points of grain alcohol.

Sam must whine, because Dean stops in the middle of his ramble and shoots him a far too concerned look. “Sam?”

“I’m good.” Really. He is. The best, not at all horny and sweating and trying to get his nose in Dean’s neck without causing an accident.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean switches his left hand to the wheel and puts his right over the seat, fingers rubbing at the back of Sam’s neck, glorious little movements that has Sam’s heart doing cartwheels in his chest. Over a fucking  _ neck rub. _

He really is that wired tonight.

Dean’s fault, forever and always.

“Look, I only blueballed you ‘cause it makes you play pool better. All that aggression, it messes with the other guy’s head. And I get my cunt wrecked after, so I don’t see a downside here.” Dean’s so painfully honest that Sam wants to kiss him and choke him all at the same time, and it’s a fucking toss up as to which one he’d like more. God, that’s probably what this is all about anyway, getting choke fucked. The one thing that Dean won’t fucking ask for, just leaves it for Sam to figure out. He’ll beg for just about any damn thing, but Sam has to fucking  _ work  _ to get his fingers around Dean’s neck.

He’s going to die, a very slow, painful death, because Dean fucking Winchester is going to cause him an aneurysm purely through sexual frustration. Sam’s never read of it actually happening, but there’s no reason to believe that it can’t.

“Dean, I’m fucking begging you, but please don’t talk about your cunt right now.” Sam’s dick finished hardening the fuck on up the second Dean’s hands had started on their way up to his hairline, and he’s got miles and miles of footage in his head of nothing but Dean’s slick-wet ass to play. Right now is  _ not  _ the time to go down that sinfully alluring rabbit hole. He has no idea what kind of place this is, whether or not he and Dean can be at least  _ moderately  _ handsy with each other. Apparently no one writes reviews of the bars around here.

Dean’s touch goes from connecting to “turn Sam on as fast as possible,” nails scraping across the back of his neck and making his whole body tremble. “Would it help if I called it my ass?”

“Dean,  _ stop. _ ” Sam hates having to growl it at him but it’s almost to the point of getting on his nerves, all this teasing and no fucking follow through. Christ, he’s this close to soaking right through his jeans, and they have enough problems with omegas coming onto them; walking in that bar smelling like knot ain’t gonna help either one of them. 

Dean goes back to rubbing, only moderately better than scraping, and lets Sam’s hair run through his fingers a few times. “Can’t help it, Sammy. But I’ll shut up. For now.”

Sam doesn’t really fully believe that, but he can at least make an honest attempt at getting himself under control.

The bar isn’t much to look at, and the Civil War-era cannon, weathered and sunk into the earth out front, looks very much to be part of the decor. Sam half expects to hear rebel yells erupting from the place, which is of course  _ packed.  _ Only watering hole in town, it makes sense. Dean finds a spot around the back, right next to a row of motorcycles that very much look like they belong back here.

Dean’s eying them, like a kid at Christmas at the sight of shiny chrome and metal, no matter its form. “You ever thought about a bike, Sam?”

Sam takes the chance to get closer while Dean’s looking at the Harley closest to them, sliding his hand across Dean’s belly to hold him place while he scents his neck. Fuck, Dean smells goddamn  _ incredible,  _ like sweet, burned asphalt being cooled down by a hard rain. “Don’t think I’d fit on one. Certain standard of legs or somethin’ that I over-pass.” 

Dean turns his head, smirking. “Certain standard of legs?”

“Yeah. Too tall to get on one.”

“If you say so - not that I don’t like the hog between your legs enough already.” Dean leans in and licks his jaw, because he’s Dean and he can get away with that shit, only to be out the door of the car a second later and obviously expecting Sam to chase him inside.

Of fucking  _ course  _ Dean wants to be playful about it tonight, on top of smelling ridiculously good and making Sam so wound up that a slight breeze would finish him off at this point. Boom, come in his pants, and he has to stay in the car until Dean’s finished charming everyone out of their money and has managed to drink the entire bar at the same time.

The mission of keeping Dean out of the moonshine gives him the motivation he needs, and Sam gets out, hard-on tucked as best as he can manage it, and follows Dean through the back door. Dean slips his fingers into Sam’s waistband the second they’re inside, omega’s heads whipping around the second they enter, as they do every time they walk into a crowded room. It’s so, so easy to forget that they’re still alphas, they still hemorrhage pheromones, and that yeah, some folks are gonna look just on instinct.

Dean’s thumb going over his lower vertebrae helps keep him from snarling, because if they’re looking at him, they’re sure as shit looking at Dean too. 

“Easy, Sammy, let’s get a beer. Think about the shower beer, and how fucking good that was.” Dean’s voice is low, soothing, probably as much for himself as it is for Sam. A crowded place like this, it’s easy to let hormones do all the talking, and through the sweat, booze, and smoke, it’s plainly obvious that there are a few wet holes around. Probably eager, easily accessed omega cunt that Sam’s alpha is questioning but fuck, no, fucking absolutely not, Dean’s the one who’s got him wrapped around his little finger, nothing at all easily forgotten-

Dean’s got him pulled in, mouth right against his ear. Breath all hot, scratchy, the barest touch of his lips stopping Sam dead in his tracks.

“Sammy, listen to me - ease up, seriously. Whole place smells like pussy, I know, but we don’t do that shit. Can’t. Remember that one time we tried sharin’ a ‘meg? Slick’s got us both a little fucked up, and we both know it ain’t mine. Me and you, Sammy, that’s it. That’s fucking it. Fuck, Sam, I know you’re in a tough spot, and I know I’m the one who put you there, but we got a job to do, right?”

Dean gets him behind the ear, just a little kiss, but it brings Sam back down fast. Dean doesn’t pull away, not yet, even though there are plenty of eyes on them. Two goddamn big alphas, hung up on each other, Dean whispering in Sam’s ear exactly like the mate he is to him. Fucking  _ his, Sam’s, no one’s to share, his his his his.  _ No pretty slip of a ‘meg is gonna tear him away from that, no matter how inviting they think the smell. They aren’t Dean, and never will be.

Sam drops his hand down to Dean’s ass and squeezes good and hard, possessive, selfish - and exactly what he needed. Dean inhales, short and sharp, and Sam nips at the join of his jaw. “We do, Dean. Think another beer sounds pretty fuckin’ good right now.”

Not that Sam particularly enjoys the barely concealed look of terror that the bartender’s giving them, it does produce two Boneshakers in very short order and Sam is  _ eternally  _ grateful for their cold, cold bliss as he takes his first swig. Good fucking stuff, made better when Dean lets out a soft  _ fuck  _ as Sam tips the bottle back. Let ‘em look, so long as Dean’s paying the closest attention.

They finish off a beer each before they move from their spot near the bar, surveying the crowd and sniffing out a potential fight before it even starts. There’s not a whole lot of aggression in the air, nothing more than usual for a jam-packed bar on a weekend. Sam wonders how easy of a mark the folks playing pool tonight are, and just how much cash they have and might be willing to part with. He finds the bikers whose rides are so prominently displayed outside, and aside from making eye contact with a couple of them, it looks like they’re largely keeping to themselves. Not even the couple of omega waiters who keep bringing them beer are getting pawed at, and Sam isn’t entirely sure why, but that makes him feel better.

“How’s your aim feelin’?” Dean accepts another beer with a grin and starts towards the pool tables, eyes dropping over Sam on his way past. Sam follows, gaze locked on the dip of Dean’s spine in his tight shirt, sweat coloring the small of his back. 

Sam grabs a cue and waits for a couple of betas to finish their game, both of them completely ignorant of the scents that he and Dean are throwing off. Dean racks the balls up and makes a show of bending over, shirt riding up and showing off precious skin - Sam’s aim isn’t feeling particularly strong, with that sort of display going on. “So long as it’s not me you’re trying to take money from, I should be fine.”

Dean just gives him another one of those overtly assessing looks, like he’s completely forgotten about pool and all that matters is the v-cut of Sam’s collar down his chest. “Think I’m getting most of what I want from you, Sammy.” God, the fucking heat in his voice is enough to make Sam’s alpha grumble, like he’s not worked up enough already. Sam doesn’t need the opinion, knows damn well that Dean looks completely, one hundred percent fuckable right now, and he can’t have him here on the pool table. Well, he could, but the consequences of knotting up his brother in public are at best loaded.

A couple comes over, an alpha and an omega, eyeing the table, Dean, and then finally Sam. “You two feel like losing some money?” Fuck, he’s handsome, and so is his omega, tall for one, tough, too. The rugged sort of handsome that Sam always thought he would find if a William Faulkner novel came to life, muscles and bodies forged by hard work rather than a gym. The omega doesn’t smell anything other than confident, but his alpha? He’s watching Sam and Dean’s every move, and Sam can’t really blame him for doing so. 

“Buy you boys a drink?” He waves over one of the waiters, mumbles something, low enough that Sam can’t make out a single word, and off the waiter darts, wondering just what it is he just ordered. “Haven’t seen y’all around here before?”

“Just passing through.” Dean flashes a toothy smile, one that’s about as predatory as he can get before it turns to a snarl. “You local?”

“Yep.” The alpha sticks out his hand, and Dean shakes first, Sam second. “Henry, and this is Aaron.” Aaron doesn’t offer to shake, and neither Sam or Dean offer.

“I’m Dean, and this is Sam.” They’ve already gravitated back towards each other, so close that Sam can almost count the individual hairs on Dean’s head and neck. “Double or nothing?” 

Aaron drops a fat wad of cash on the edge of the table,  _ at least  _ a thousand dollars, and Dean does the same - where the hell he was keeping it, Sam’s not sure. He wasn’t aware that Dean even  _ had  _ that much money. Dean just looks at him and chews his lip, shrugging. 

“Why don’t you let Sammy here break?” Henry stands back and watches Sam bend over. Sam starts sweating harder, his flannel stuck fast to him, trying to ignore the clingy, scratchy feel of the cotton hooking into the hair on his arms as he lines his shot up and sends the balls flying. Dean grunts with  _ approval,  _ complicating Sam’s ability to concentrate even further.

It’s the same fucking noise he makes when Sam’s tongue is in his ass,  _ good fuckin’ job, Sammy, eatin’ my hole out like that.  _ He has Dean’s voice in his head now, straightening when Dean spreads his fingers over the center of his back. Sam watches Aaron shoot, sinking both balls he was aiming for and alright, this might not be as easy as they thought it was going to be.

The waiter comes back with their drinks, and Sam knows in a second that it’s moonshine. Christ, he can see the fucking fumes coming off of it, his stomach clenching just watching it. Both Henry and Aaron take a shot, slamming it back like water, watching Sam and Dean in clear anticipation.

“House special.” Henry sets his glass down with a dull  _ clunk  _ on the edge of the table, licking his lips. “Less you two can’t handle the real stuff.”

Dean shrugs again, downing his drink with a couple of long pulls - and then Sam’s. It’s only Sam that notices the little stagger Dean has to hide as the last of it slides down his throat, grinning back at Henry. “Sammy’s drivin’, don’t need him gettin’ drunk. Right Sammy?”

Sam nods, truly in awe of his brother, looking past the bravado, seeing  _ protectiveness - not gonna let you have that stuff, baby boy, shit’s nasty and I need you in your own head. _

In spite of the heat, the sweat, Sam’s heart fucking explodes with affection and a million other things for Dean, all of it going right to his dick.

“Sammy. Huh. Cute.” 

Without missing a beat, Dean runs a hand down Sam’s forearm and nuzzles, loud enough for Henry to hear “ain’t he though?”

God, Sam’s not going to fucking survive this evening.

They end up playing the best of three; Aaron and Henry handily win the first game, Sam and Dean the second. By the third, Sam’s throat is dry and Dean doesn’t seem in the least bit rattled, but the game is too damn close to just  _ not  _ sit back and be calm. Christ, it’s all the fucking money they have, but if they win, they can stay somewhere a hell of a lot nicer on their way back to Kansas, maybe fuck off for a few days in some part of the country that isn’t completely miserable in how hot it is. It doesn’t help a damn thing that Dean keeps touching him between shots, little touches that broadcast “hey, we’re both alphas but look at how comfortable we are with each other this close together, we aren’t ripping each other’s throats out.” Goddamn it, Sam’s nearing the end of his rope, between this fucking pool game and Dean being Dean.

At least Dean did switch back to beer after downing that rotgut - he doesn’t need Dean being overheated  _ and  _ hungover all at the same time.

Sam’s about to take his shot, his sleeves rolled up and fuck it, he’s got to do something to make himself more comfortable. He hands Dean his cue and strips off the flannel, dropping it to the floor and it’s a goddamn mistake to show that much skin all at once; his tee is so covered in sweat that it sticks to every curve of muscle in his chest and stomach, as close to being painted on as he can get without being some sort of pin-up. He didn’t bother with deodorant, so he knows exactly what sort of musk he’s throwing off right now, and Aaron fucking  _ moans;  _ Henry snaps a growl, Sam takes his shot, and they win, every ball sinking right where he wants it and Dean gets fucking  _ wet,  _ either from the scent of Sam’s body or winning, he isn’t sure.

“You and your ‘meg play dirty, Sam.” Henry shoves the cash towards him, and Sam’s stuffing it in his pocket in a big damn hurry, picking up his shirt.

“Not a meg, buddy.” The growl in Dean’s voice is three times as dangerous as the pistol Sam’s got tucked in his waistband, and Sam’s a damned good shot. “All alpha here.”

“Like the whole fucking bar didn’t just smell your ass get wet,  _ Dean.”  _ Henry picks up his beer and grabs Aaron, possessive like he’s part of the prize for victory. “Two of you are freaks, you know that?”

Dean ignores him and gets Sam by the back of his head, grabbing a great big handful of his cock with the other as he opens Sam’s mouth up with his tongue, hungry, demanding, tasting like the burn nearly pure fucking ethanol and lust, deepening the kiss when Sam follows instinct and backs him against the pool table, balls rattling in their pockets and the whole thing shifting by an inch.

Sam likes being a freak. Hell, he likes it a whole fucking  _ lot. _

“Thanks for playin’ boys, but we better hit the road.” Dean doesn’t even look at them, just keeps his gaze fixed on Sam, drunk on the heat, the sweat, the thousands of thousands of charged particles in the air between them. Sam watches them leave, the look of confusion and envy that normally finds its way to peoples’ faces fixed in the room as they kiss each other again. Fuck it, Sam doesn’t care, and he dares anyone try and stop them.

_ Are those the Winchesters? _

_ Yeah, that’s definitely Sam and Dean - always knew there was somethin’ wrong with those two. _

_ It’s disgusting. _

Yeah, whatever lady - you haven’t tasted Dean’s tongue as the chaser to a shot of whiskey while your knot’s gaping him open. Disgusting is the last fucking word they ought to be tossing around here.

“Think we’ve outstayed our welcome, baby boy.” Dean’s voice is smooth as honey and four times as sweet, dripping with naked intent and… fuck, Dean  _ naked. _

“Yeah.” Sam’s just going to have to walk out with a hard-on, same as he walked in. Dean looks ready to lead him out by the dick, smirking when he pulls the wad of cash out of Sam’s pocket and drops a couple of bills on the bartop. He didn’t  _ have  _ to get that close to Sam’s crotch to do so, but he did. Sam’s leaked precome right through his jeans, pointed down and hard to the right, a miracle that he’s not suffocated himself yet. Dean hooks his fingers in Sam’s back pocket as they walk out, and he can hear him inhaling his scent. 

Shit, knowing Dean’s  _ that  _ turned on - he can’t get him back to the room fast enough.

“Smell so goddamn good, Sammy.” Dean stops them at the car, Sam’s ass against the trunk while Dean buries his nose in his neck and shoulder. “Goddamn pits have to…” Hell, he doesn’t even bother to finish his sentence, just raises Sam’s left arm and shoves his face in, going right back to groping Sam’s dick as he licks at his tricep. “Yeah, Sam, they are, fuckin’ hell, why the fuck do you smell so goddamn  _ incredible. _ ”

“ _ Dean.”  _ Sam is about thirty seconds away from creaming his fucking jeans, between Dean rubbing his face all over his pit and jacking him off in possibly the most uncomfortable way ever (these jeans have  _ zero  _ give to them)and he doesn’t want that here, wants to be knotted up inside Dean’s perfect, wet ass and not here, where they’re starting to draw a fucking crowd and sorry, this show isn’t for public viewing. “Dean, fucking come  _ on. _ ”

Dean picks his head up and looks dead at Sam, either in drunk affection or serious disbelief that Sam is real - it’s a toss up. “Gonna,” Dean says, and hands Sam the keys, stumbling a bit as he goes for the passenger door and drops in, giggling, reaching for Sam once he’s in behind the wheel.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, Sam. Fuckin… take your shirt off and the whole place loses it. Now they know how the fuck I feel.” Dean looks seriously proud of him, hand settling on Sam’s inner thigh. “Shit’s goddamn hot, Sam.”

“I just wanted to win the damn game.” Sam’s already been blueballed once today, so cutting that whole mess short was for  _ everyone’s  _ benefit - and Dean’s about to get the fucking of his life the second his knees hit that creaky bed. If they snap the fucking headboard, so fucking be it, Sam’s been worked up enough for one day. “You good?”

Dean buckles himself in, not once detaching himself from his place on Sam’s thigh.

“Out-fucking-standing.”

Sam had done his best to memorize their route back to the motel, since Dean's humming to music only he can hear and in no shape to navigate; it's better than having him making his best effort to grope Sam to death, because if he wasn't drunk off his ass it's a certainty that he would be. Sam's entire body feels overcharged with arousal, the magnetic scent of Dean's slick filling the choked, hot air. Sam rolls down a window just so he isn't so slick-high that he wrecks them, the last thing he wants.

Hurting himself over being turned on is not how he wants to leave this world, no matter how poetic it might be to their current situation. Dean's fingers tighten on his thigh, an inch away from the swollen head of his dick. It's getting painful to be trapped up like this, no relief save for driving faster. Christ, it's too hot, too much, a race against their own bodies.

"Smell so fuckin' hot right now." Dean's still leaned back in his seat, licking his lips like he's tasting the air. Sam shifts in his seat, balls dropping as his knot tries to swell. "Like you're gonna fuck me so hard I can't goddamn walk for a week."

Talk ain't cheap between them - it never is. Playing Dean's game gives his arousal a purpose, something other than focusing on how frustratedly turned on he is. Not like it won't help grease the wheels a little further, either.

"That what you want, Dean? Need to be split open on my big fuckin' alpha cock?" Hell. Saying the words without being able to look right at him is just as good as talking Dean off over the phone, a show he can really only hear and not see. The sweet-sharp scent of slick picks up even further, Sam's alpha growling and snarling in his mind. "Fuck, Dean. Want that too, wanna fuck and knot up my pretty boy so fucking bad."

The steady, occasional pothole-jolt vibration of the tires eating the distance back to the motel almost makes his whole body thrum, mixed with the low whine Dean lets out as he paws at his crotch. "That goddamn fuckin' dirty mouth, Sammy, shit - got me so fuckin' wet, talkin' like that."

Wherever that lazy drawl is coming from, it's working really fucking well for Sam right now. He wants nothing more to bend over Dean's back right now and whisper filth right into his ear, cock stuffed and begging to come. Dean gets so  _ needy  _ when they drunk fuck, and Sam can smell the openness, the way Dean's whole body sprawls and invites.

"Better be, Dean, better be  _ real  _ fuckin' wet. Can't fuckin' wait to tear that pretty pink cunt up, remind you who it belongs to."

Dean  _ ahs,  _ hand working over himself, bulge so fucking prominent in his jeans that if Sam hadn't seen him put them on, he would swear that Dean wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Think you ought to let me handle that." Sam finally has enough of watching Dean try to stroke off through his jeans and he bats his hand away from himself, replacing Dean's fingers with his own. He doesn't give him much beyond just squeezing, feeling, winding Dean up so that the slick stain in his briefs stays there.

It never fucking gets old, knowing just how soaked Dean gets for him.  _ Mine mine mine mine mine mine  _ turns into a chant in his head, listening halfway to Dean moan his name and "alpha" over and over again. Yeah, Dean's as fucking far gone as he is right now, maybe further.

"Can do," Dean manages. "Know that no one makes me come 's hard as you do, Sam." He reaches up and does that scraping motion again, nails digging in at the back of Sam's neck. Sam moans, God, his whole being is shouting nothing but  _ DeanDeanDeanDeanDean -  _ they've moved the fucking motel, Sam is fucking  _ sure  _ of it.

"Better not be anyone else."

Sam isn't exactly ashamed over how possessive he sounds. Because he fucking  _ is.  _

The motel finally shows up just around the bend and Sam could honestly shout for joy- instead he just skids the car into the lot and is out the door in a fucking second, keys jammed into his pocket. Dean's a little slower but he grabs Sam's arm all the same, burning hot fingers on his flesh. No foreplay tonight - Sam needs to be inside Dean's body as badly as Dean wants him there.

"Thought you were gonna pick me up and carry me in." A flash of teeth tells Sam that he's only  _ mostly  _ kidding - but drunk Dean isn't an easy thing to lift. “Would be hot as shit.”

“Next time,” Sam promises, and they finally reach their door - at least Sam hopes it is. There aren’t enough distinguishing features about this motel to really set any of the faded door numbers apart. Sam jams his key in the lock and it opens with protest, kicking it the last couple inches and dragging Dean inside.

“ _ Mine. _ ”

Dean moans, loudly, Sam licking his tongue into his mouth and fucking keeping it there, undressing Dean as quickly as he can. Christ, the scent of him is completely, destructively irresistible, and Sam  _ has  _ to get at it, has to get his slick. His dick throbs with every heartbeat, pushing Dean down to the bed and ripping his jeans off of him. Dean’s dick hits his stomach with a soft  _ thump,  _ precome dripping and smearing. Fuck, he’s a goddamn vision like this, all sprawled out and spread-legged, hole shown to Sam. Sam strips  _ fast,  _ flips Dean over and hauls him to the edge of the bed, getting up on his knees and groping his chest, Dean’s pierced nipples hard as rock against his palms.

“I am going to fucking wreck you, pretty boy.” Sam reaches down, slides three fingers into Dean’s hole with zero resistance. “That cunt already fucking wet and open for my cock.” Hell, Sam can’t fucking resist any longer, giving Dean about ten seconds of him rubbing his cock against his hole before he slides in, both of them letting out a long, loud  _ fuuuuuuuuuuuck  _ the second Sam has bottomed out. 

It’s been less than twelve fucking hours since Sam had him, and it still feels like too long. Why the  _ fuck  _ he denies himself this at any fucking point doesn’t make any sense, and he fucking knows it. It would be so fucking easy to just say screw the job and get as much of this as he possibly could, and keep Dean right here with him.

He knows it’s the slick-high talking, but Sam just… wants. Wants Dean, and only Dean.

“Fucking  _ move,  _ Sam.”

Dean’s voice is at a dangerous growl, and Sam isn’t gonna let him get away with it. He’s the one who teased and teased until Sam was ready to fucking snap, and the base part of Sam’s brain wants to tell him he fucking deserves it.

“Am.”

Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s chest and shoulders, rocking his hips slow-fast, raising Dean’s head up to put his mouth right at his ear. “Think you and I both know this is all you’re good for some days, Dean, takin’ my fuckin’ cock. Moan and beg for it, even when you don’t wanna admit you are.” Sam’s talking  _ himself  _ off, no matter the hot, slick squeeze of Dean’s hole around his knot. Fuck, that’s fattening right on up too, halfway to locking him in already. “Should have let Henry see how I fuck you, make him think real goddamn hard about whether you’re a ‘meg or not.”

Dean whines, clenches, claws at the bed. “Say it again, Sammy, tell me… tell me I’m your ‘meg.”

Sam picks up the pace, faster, faster, snarling words all sweet in Dean’s ear. “You didn’t have that big goddamn knot between your legs like you, wet and sweet as you get Dean, I’d swear you were. My goddamn ‘meg, no one’s but  _ mine.  _ God, I’d keep you fuckin’ knocked up all the time, Dean, and you’d come back for more and more.” More, more, getting lost in the abandonment of  _ pounding  _ into Dean’s body.

Dean actually lets out a sob at that,  _ pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease  _ a chant against Sam’s lips, begging to come and Sam can feel it about to happen, both himself and Dean hurtling towards the edge. Sam’s skin feels way too tight, too hot, he’s got to come, he  _ has  _ to, nothing else fucking matters right now.

“Dean, fuck, pretty boy, fucking close, gonna flood your goddamn cunt and-” 

Sam comes as the stars burst behind his eyelids, torn cell from cell, the tight,  _ tight  _ grip of Dean’s muscles around his dick as he empties underneath himself milking Sam fucking dry, down, down, down the slick-space with Dean he goes. He’s so perfectly fucked up on his brother, his mate, his fucking  _ alpha,  _ clinging and biting into Dean’s shoulder. They’re locked up, just right, bodies ending and starting together. Sam doesn’t stop shouting into Dean’s skin until his orgasm lessens, pulling them back and over so that they’re on their sides, still keeping Dean closer than close.

Sweet, raindrop-soft kisses litter Dean’s neck and face,  _ IloveyouIloveyou  _ beaming through Sam’s head. God, Dean let him fucking do that, treat him like a fucking come dump omega and Dean’s fucking  _ purring  _ in his arms, wringing the last of his orgasm from his own body.

“You’re a fucking monster, Sammy.” Dean’s still slurry, lust-hazy - but he’s still with Sam. Always. “Not movin’, are we?”

“You don’t want to?” Sam’s sweating, blood too loud and fast in his veins. “Think you’d be tryin’ to get away after what I just did to you.” He gets Dean’s mouth again, the kiss almost too sharply tender.

“Think I got exactly what I wanted Sam - not the first time you’ve let your feral side slip through the gate. ‘S hot, Sammy, and I’m not sayin’ that just cause of the moonshine.” Dean squeezes his ass around Sam’s knot and drinks the gasp Sam lets out, smug in a way that he shouldn’t be right now.

“Yeah, how the hell have you not puked yet?”

“Just promise me you’ll hold me up when I do.”

If Dean lets him keep fucking him like that, Sam’s game for pretty much anything. 


End file.
